Drew Yochum and the Olympians: The Son of Zeus
by Pacmayne
Summary: Watch as a young demigod struggles with the life as the son of Zeus. (Warning: This story contains realistic teenage personalities, so please be prepared for inappropriate language, rude gestures, etc.) Previously named A Journey for Pi. HIATUS
1. A Disturbance in the Air

**One**

* * *

**M**y name is Drew Yochum.

I'm thirteen years old. Until a few months ago, I was just a regular kid going to Banta Elementary, a small school in the middle of San Joaquin Valley, a large agricultural county in central California.

Am I a country kid?

No. You couldn't say that.

But that's getting off track. The point is, it's always been weird and freaky in my short confusing life, but things really started going bad last November.

* * *

It was a collection of weird things that started it all.

The first thing that occured I didn't really think much of until now. Now I know how important to my life this was.

Even though I went to school at Banta, I lived with my family in Lathrop. It was the five of us, all living in this one-story, yet openly spaced house.

Each morning, I wake up at five forty-five to the most annoying alarm I could find on my iPhone 4. After waking up, I take a shower and get dressed. I usually make myself a cup of coffee to stay awake and do productive things for the rest of the morning, like playing video games and watching YouTube videos.

The morning that the strange event happened started off normal. I was playing _Call of Duty: Black Ops II, _drinking my french vanilla coffee, when Alysa, my sixteen-year-old sister, came to my door, not even bothering to knock.

"Drew," she said softly, keeping her voice low to not wake our baby sister, Kenzie.

"Yeah? What do you need?" I kept my eyes on the screen. _Search_ _and Destroy_ was _not_ the type of playlist you _don't_ want to pay attention to, _especially_ if you're the last person alive.

"Mom said you have to take the garbage out to the road. You know, because it's Tuesday."

I felt a pang of annoyance. I tore my eyes away from the TV, looking at her. "Why can't you do it? You never do it."

Not for the first time, I looked at Alysa and wondered how I ended up looking so incredibly different from my sister.

Alysa had our father's orangish-red hair and his abundance of freckles that seemed to be everywhere. She had his dark green eyes and his sensitive skin and they both looked like your stereotypical Irish person.

But Alysa had our mother's pretty face and inherited her bossy attitude, her talent with little kids, and, unfortunately, her bad grades.

Every time I looked at my sister, I see both my mother and my father. I'm also reminded of how different I am from the rest of my family.

Alysa's eyebrows furrowed, a tale-tell sign that she was getting upset.

"I'm not done getting ready, and you've been done for like an hour," her voice getting a tad defensive. I immediately felt stupid. I knew that she was right, but it was annoying always being the little brother.

"Okay, I'll do it." I tried to find a safe spot on the map so that I could stay alive while I was gone.

Alysa paused, and I could feel her eyes on me. "Now! It's almost time to go!"

"Okay, okay!" I threw the controller onto the bed and turned off the Xbox 360 console—I knew I wouldn't be coming back to play some more. "Damn, dude."

* * *

As soon as I stepped out of the kitchen and into the garage, the hairs on my arms stood straight up.

I shivered. It must have been forty degrees out there. Little bits of dirt stuck to my bare feet and the freezing cold of the garage floor crept up my legs. My little Yorkshire, Molly, was seeking warmth underneath a pile of clothes by the washing machine.

But besides the cold, there was something else. I felt a kind of disturbance in the air. I remember reading something about dogs being able to sense a hurricane coming from miles away.

I nervously surveyed the dark, cluttered garage. My mom's dirty, silver Acura was parked in the middle of the garage, taking up most of the space. Cramped on either side of the garage were seemingly randomly placed objects, like tools, ping pong balls, beach supplies—then some more junk.

In the support beams above we had stashed suitcases and other things we didn't have space for anywhere else. A mini-refrigerator sat on an old coffee table with a bunch of other crap. The stone floor was stained with oil and scattered with blankets and clothes, curtesy of our dogs.

The garage light flickered.

I shivered again, but this time I pinched my arm. I told myself to man up, and I heard my friend Joey's country voice come into my head, drawling, _don't be a__ bitch._

I smiled.

I left the garage through the side door and leaned in the doorway, peering around cautiously. It was noticeably colder outside than in the garage. The walkway leading to my left and into our backyard was overgrown with plants and bathed in the blue shadows of the morning. I stood on my toes and snooped over the rickety fence set up in-between our neighbor Rob's house and our own.

I almost couldn't help myself—Rob was too much of a creep to not be suspicious.

Ever since we first moved in, he'd been weird around us. He usually kept to himself, but whenever he came out to take his garbage out, he got angry at our dogs for barking. He'd splutter and yell, cursing at the dogs and their "wretched ways."

Once, when Brannon and I were out front playing basketball, Rob had pulled into his driveway in his silver and black Camaro. Brannon had said hello, just to be friendly, but Rob looked back, a mix of emotions crossing his face, "Huh?" Then, without waiting for an answer, jogged into his house.

My mom shared my suspicions, often calling Rob "Sloth" from the _Goonies. _Needless to say, we didn't let Kenzie around him.

Peering over Rob's fence, I found nothing out of the ordinary. His house was still and quiet, his yard in desperate need of a trim.

Still, I had that feeling in me, like it had been in the air and I'd sucked it into my lungs.

I unlatched the lock from our side gate and rolled the bright blue recycling bin down our driveway. I parked it beside our basketball hoop on the sidewalk, dancing around on tiptoes—I regretted leaving my shoes inside.

I recalled my sense of disturbance, and despite myself, looked around while rubbing my arms.

The neighborhood I lived in didn't look very different. It was just your regular middle-income neighborhood.

Right across the street from my house was the school that I _still_ don't know the name of. Beyond the chain-link fence was the soccer field and the parking lot, then towards the heart of the campus were the classrooms, a collection of green roofed portables. The largest building, the gym, was closest to me and was on the street corner, which some guy in all black rounded, walking onto Cambridge Drive. The wall facing the sunrise glared white and the green roof sparkled like emeralds.

The grass in the field and in front of all the houses was still wet with morning dew. The sun reflected off of the back of every street sign and parked car. Birds tweeted and chirped and somewhere to my right I heard a train on the railroad tracks, it's horn cutting through the air like a dull butter knife.

A pickup truck drove past my house.

Everything _looked_ normal. Everything _sounded_ normal. Yet, I still had that weird feeling in my gut.

I headed back to the house so that I could finish my job.

I lugged the dark purple garbage can to the sidewalk, recoiling at the putrid stench. I watched a spider climb across the glistening surface, then disappeared underneath the handles I was holding onto. By the time I finished, I felt like taking another shower.

As I speed-walked up the driveway, anxious to get back into the comfort of my home, I heard strange noises.

I stopped cold.

I remember reading something once on the Internet. It was called _Goosebumps! The Science of Fear. _It was an article written by some dude talking about the brain's threat center, called the amygdala. It's always looking out for danger, and if it finds danger, it kicks the body off with the fight or flight response.

Then, the article went into detail describing some symptoms of fear, like sweating, shaking legs, goosebumps, and your heart beating faster.

I'd never really experienced fear, so when a book or something described fear like that, I couldn't ever really relate.

Until now.

It was funny how fear seems to make you forget about everything else. I seemed to just _forget _about the cold. I just _forgot _about all of the advice Mom used to tell me for if anything crazy went down.

The noises came from Rob's house. I heard a deep, angry voice yell out a curse word, a high-pitched whining sound that you'd hear from a wounded dog, then a loud bang, like something heavy denting an aluminum garage door.

In fact, I _saw _his green garage door cave in an outward dent the size of a small horse. I was pretty sure I could see a leg indented into the metal . . .

I looked around, wondering if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing, but there was nobody on the streets. On the far end of my block, a car drove past the O Street and Cambridge Drive intersection. I was alone.

For seven solid seconds, I stood there, not sure if this was _it._

The real thing.

Was this something dangerous? Could I get hurt? Or was I being ridiculous?

I decided not to risk it.

I ran up the drive way and closed the wooden side gate as quietly as I could. I was a mere fence away from Rob's garage, and I could hear movement from inside. My heart pounded in my ears as I tiptoed to our side garage door.

I was almost home.

Just as I put my hand on the handle, I stopped.

I don't know why, maybe it was just curiosity, but I turned around.

Looking back on it, I now know that this curiosity could've killed me. It was stupid, turning around and facing the danger because I was _curious_.

I peered carefully over the wooden fence. Rob's side door was open, and I looked inside.

What I saw was a very strange sight.

Rob, a tall, over-weight, middle-aged white man with thinning brown hair, a scraggly beard and an abundance of body hair, was wearing a stained white tank-top and boxer shorts with Harley Davidson's on them while holding a tiny red broom. He was bent over so that the broom could actually reach the ground, sweeping at a mess of what appeared to be golden dust, which his entire body seemed to be covered in.

I had barely even began to actually comprehend what I was looking at when Rob suddenly straightened up, sniffing at the air like some kind of animal.

I ducked, barely stifling a gasp. My instincts were screaming, _DANGER! _I didn't think, I just did what made the most sense.

I sprinted into the safety of my house, not bothering to be quiet about it anymore, slamming the door shut. I left the fear and the cold behind, and welcomed the warmth and the peace with arms wide open.

* * *

**Hey guys! It's Pacmayne here, and I'd like to ask you for a quick review, telling me what you think of Drew, my main character. Who do you think his godly parent is? What do think about this Rob guy? Just tell me what you think about the chapter in general, please.**

**And I'd just like to point out, the next chapter will be _much_ more interesting.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter. Bye!**


	2. The Son of Hades

**What's up, guys, it's Pacmayne. I'd just like to thank _aLazyButSmartFanPJO_, because s/he is my first reviewer for this story, and s/he made me very happy.  
**

**And, just so you know, there will be cussing in this chapter. Expect it.**

**Bye!**

* * *

**Two**

* * *

**T**he next strange thing that happened was _slightly _more terrifying.

Three days later, it was Friday, and I had already gotten over what had happened last Teusday. That was my ADHD brain, for you—I was constantly moving on to the next thing.

Like every other Friday, I got out of school early, at 2:10. Like always, I started walking home with a group of kids from my class.

I mean, I shouldn't say I was walking _home._ I was walking to my grandfather's house, which was where I used to live. See, for the first two years I lived in California, my mom, my step-dad Brannon, Alysa, and I were living at my mom's dad's house while she collected enough money to buy her own house.

After Mom got pregnant with Kenzie, we finally moved out to Lathrop, renting a house from some couple living in Sunnyvale. So, I walk from the school to my Papa Steve's house on Grant Line, about a mile up the road. Then, at about 3:30, Brannon picks me up and takes me to our house.

It's just, I can't exactly explain all that to everyone that asks, you know?

"So, I was thinking that I should get _Battlefield 4_," my friend Ben started. I nodded my head to show him I was listening. "I mean, you're getting it, right?"_  
_

I tightened the straps on my backpack. "Yeah. This weekend. At least, I _hope _so. You never really know with my mom."

"I know what you mean. Hey, can you get my phone out of my bag? It's in the small pocket in the back. So, you are getting _Battlefield_, right? That means I should probably get it, too, huh?"

I shrugged and handed Ben his phone, the new Windows 8. "Do you even want it?"

Ben sagged his tiny shoulders. "I don't know, dude."

Ben Villa was this skinny, thirteen-year-old, four foot eleven Latino kid with long, silky brown hair and dark brown eyes. I was barely five months older than him, yet I was nine inches taller than him.

He had the whole skater boy look going on, with his grey converse, black skinny jeans, and his plaid, black and white jacket. Ben hadn't yet hit puberty, so when a kid in our class, Asa Estrella, once called him, "a Mexican Justin Bieber," during class, it was pure gold.

"When I was playing the beta, I got bored really easily. Like, the gameplay isn't as . . ." Ben searched for the word that fit.

"Fast-paced," I prompted.

"Yeah! I don't know, maybe it was just because I only played as a sniper the entire time."

I kicked a rock out of the road as we crossed the train tracks. "Well, there _was _only one map and one game mode." But Ben wasn't paying attention.

You see, that's the thing about Ben. Like me, he had ADHD, but his was bad to the point he actually takes medicine for it. Whenever I try to talk to him about anything, he eventually gets distracted. I don't really mind all that much, because I do the same thing.

Ben was laughing at our friends, Edwin and Asa, as they broke out into a fight, threatening to push each other in the road. They wrestled and cussed at each other, but I knew that they were just playing around.

Edwin threw his backpack to the ground and pounded his chest. "Come at me, bro. Callin' me a fat ass."

Asa feigned terror. "Oh shit, guys! This nigga gonna eat me!"

Ben burst out laughing, a high-pitched giggle that I'm still not quite accustomed to, even though I've known him since the sixth grade.

Edwin charged and tackled Asa, and the two landed just short of the road. A silver Prius honked and swerved out of the way, erupting more laughter from Ben.

I rolled up the sleeves of my grey and black Raiders jacket. It was actually my dad's, but last summer, just before we went on our annual camping trip with my dad's side of the family, he gave it to me.

It was only because he wanted me to stay warm up in the mountains, but I've had it ever since. It stilled smelled like him—spearmint gum and cigarettes.

I wiped my brow and peered around. We were on the intersection of South 7th Street and West G Street, where the Banta Inn was located. There were a handful of cars parked out front, and the sign read, _What's up? Yes, we're open._

On West G Street, there wasn't much. Just the old, closed down post office and a couple of cute little houses. At the end of the street was the Banta General Store, where the street met with Grant Line Road.

If you continued straight on South 7th Street, you'd find yourself in a neighborhood of about twenty houses. If you went back to the school, there was a tiny fire station on the corner of the street and Grant Line.

Down Grant Line, if you look to both the left and the right, you'll see countryside and farms. Way out in the distance, you can see the freeway that I take to Lathrop. In-between the Banta General Store and my Papa Steve's house, there's nothing but farms for about a mile. Then, at Papa Steve's, there's another neighborhood with maybe fifty houses.

Banta was probably one of the smallest and emptiest towns ever.

I stepped around Edwin and Asa, as I couldn't afford to wait for them to stop wrestling. The last time I kept Brannon waiting for more than ten minutes, my mom was pissed. Ben grudgingly followed me, still giggling about what happened.

"Dude, did you see that? It was fucking hilarious! Asa was like, 'this nigga gonna eat me!' Then Edwin fucking _tackled _him!" Ben laughed again, throwing his head back.

"Yeah, I know. I saw it," I said, smiling. I saw Anthony Meza run to catch up to us.

Ben sobered up for a second to say, "Edwin was like, 'Suprise, motherfucker!'" He burst into fits of laughter, again.

"Hey," said a breathless Anthony. Anthony was a chubby, thirteen-year-old Portugal boy who talked _very_ quickly and had short black hair and brown eyes. He was short, but not nearly as short as Ben. He was generally a fun person be around, as he was really funny and smart.

"Did you see-"

"Yeah, dude, that was _hella _funny!" Ben interrupted gleefully.

Anthony's eyes were wide. "Did you see when that car almost hit them?" He demonstrated by gripping an imaginary wheel, then suddenly jerking it to the right, making screeching noises. "I was like, 'oh shit!'"

Ben and Anthony laughed about it some more, and by the time we got to the store they had calmed down a bit.

There were a couple of pickup trucks out front, and a semi-truck in the parking lot. The Banta General Store was basically a sort of pit stop for truck drivers, where they got their snacks and drinks so that they could continue on.

The outside of the building was wooden and painted a smooth brown. There were two windows on either side of the door that displayed beer and cigarette advertisements. Above the doorway was a long white banner that said in bold red letters, _Banta General Store. _Then, above that, was a sign that showed the business hours.

"Hey, Ben. You got any money?" I asked, leaning on the white door frame.

Ben turned his pockets inside out. "Nah, nigga. I'm broke as a motherfucka."

I heard a faint voice, a voice I recognized as Nadia Vera's, say from inside, "I have money."

I grabbed the door frame and leaned in the door way, looking inside.

Usually when I do this I'll see the checkout counter to my left, where the Indian guy that runs the store stands behind, and freezers to my right, filled with beer and soda. At the back wall there are freezers for the other beverages. There are only two aisles, both filled with candy and bags of chips, and the walls were covered with posters of half-naked women.

But this time, I was staring at the stomach of a white man that must have been at _least_ seven foot ten. He was wide, too, maybe a _little _overweight. His biceps were the size of my head and his neck as thick as my chest. He wore a stained white t-shirt and wrinkled grey sweatpants that came down to his knees. The man held at least eight packs of skittles in one of his hands.

I was still in shock and amazement, not being able to react fast enough as the man ducked to leave the store, knocking me to the floor like I was a bag of ice. And _damn_, did he _stink._

I wasn't able to really concentrate on that fact, because my elbows cracked against the concrete sidewalk, jolting me out of my stupor.

I cried out involuntarily, and saw Ben and Anthony stare up at this freak of nature in awe, like I had.

For the first time, I saw his face, and it was _hideous._ His nose was huge and flat and he had a unibrow. His eyes were brown and blood-shot. He was bald and his jaw was covered with stubble, and his lips were split. His features were un-proportionate and so ugly, I couldn't really focus on them.

He looked down at me and grunted, glaring like _I _had pushed _him._ Once, again, his terrible stench invaded my nostrils, and I looked at his exposed lower legs. They were hairy and covered with dirt and his feet were bare, his toenails as long as my thumb.

I almost threw up.

The man emitted a deep, guttural noise, and grabbed the hood of my sweater.

Once, again, I experienced the kind of fear I had felt last Tuesday. My heart almost leapt out of my throat, and I felt a bead of sweat run down my forehead.

He held me up to his face, my feet hanging off the ground. I felt like a four-year-old kid again, like my six foot five uncle was lifting me up and hanging me upside down. And I had thought _he _was tall!

I choked, the sweatshirt cutting into my throat. I tried to release myself, but it was no use. He was impossibly strong.

I felt his breath on my face, hot and moist and disgusting. He smelled me, inhaling my scent. He paused for a moment, as if considering my smell. For what seemed like a whole minute, I was suspended there awkwardly, like, _oh, no worries. I'll just _hang _out, choking to death._

Then, his eyebrow furrowed, like he just realized I smelled bad. He roared, and spit showered my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, and I couldn't believe this was happening to me.

My fingers felt numb and they tingled with energy. Goosebumps rose on my skin and a shudder ran through my body.

I wasn't thinking clearly - I was deprived of oxygen. But I remembered something, something that had happened to me seemingly life times ago.

And I knew what to do.

I grabbed on to my attacker's wrist as tightly as I could. A jolt cut through his body and he stood stock-still. For maybe four seconds he was shocked-literally. Then, he seemed to get past the feeling and he yelled angrily, his voice hurting my ears.

He threw me effortlessly into the street, and I could finally breathe. For two seconds I was in the air, and it was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Then I hit the black asphalt, and my head smacked the ground hard. Pain cut through my skull like a knife.

I heard the man's deep, throaty voice yell, "half-blood!"

Then, a car horn honked incredibly loud, seemingly right next to me and made my ears feel like bleeding. I heard Ben's voice scream out, "Drew!" The car screeched to a stop, and I knew that it _was _right next to me.

I opened my eyes and struggled get up, but my head pounded painfully. To my left, I saw that the car, a silver Volkswagen CC, was stopped barely a foot away from me.

I shivered. Two feet more and I would have been dead.

I remembered the giant dude, and swiveled my head around to look for him. He was where I last saw him, but he was just standing there. In fact, his expression told me that he was almost . . . scared.

Ben was at my side. "Shit, dude, are you okay?"

But I wasn't looking at him and I didn't answer him. My attention was completely captured by the guy standing right in front of me.

He was maybe eighteen and about five foot eleven. His back was turned to me, and he wore a wrinkled black shirt, ripped black skinny jeans, and a chain belt.

Curiously, a black sheath hung in his chain belt. Like, the kind of sheath that would hold a _sword_. He wore it as casually as one would wear a hat.

His tan, beat up combat boots reminded me of my dad's pair. I wondered if this guy was in the military, like my dad.

When he spoke, his voice of kind of raspy, like he hadn't spoken in a while, but it was deep, too. It carried across a sense of authority and power. It was calm, but it had an edge to it. "I think it might be smart for you to back the fuck off."

I realized that he was talking to the man. I wondered how he could be so brave to talk to somebody so huge like that.

I expected my attacker to charge at the guy and pick him up and throw him, like he did to me, but to my surprise, the man took a step back. He took one final look at me, glaring, then sprinted around the corner of the store, disappearing.

Just like that, he was gone.

Everybody was quiet for a whole minute, like they didn't know how break the silence. We just stood there, shocked at the events that had just taken place. Well, I laid on the ground, and Ben kneeled, but that's not the point.

Nadia came out of the store, a black plastic bag on her wrist, and looked around, completely befuddled. Her wide eyes found me, and her mouth opened like she was about to say something.

Just then, Asa and Edwin came pounding into the scene, out of breath. Edwin collapsed on the hood of the Volkswagen that almost hit me, panting, and Asa held his side, gesturing at the scene laid out before him.

"What . . . what the fuck . . . happened?"

Just then, the passenger car door opened, pushing Edwin off the hood. A girl stepped out, her shock written into her face.

"Drew? Are you okay?" Jacqueline Yost asked me, concern interlaced with her voice.

I thought my head was going to explode. First of all, I hit it on the ground and now it hurts. Second of all, there was too much going on. I wish I could just pause time and sort through all my thoughts.

Jacqueline, or Jackie, was thirteen, like I was, but she was about four months younger than me. She was an inch shorter than I was, making her the tallest girl in our grade. Her hair was wavy, and dark red, just a couple shades lighter than blood. She had fair skin and these gripping green eyes that just held you in place. She was pretty, one of the only girls at our school with curves. She was developed and thick, with a nice ass, and a kicking' body.

Jackie also happened to be my ex-girlfriend, but that's irrelevant, right?

My head pounded as I struggled to say, "I'm okay."

Ben helped me stand up. "No you aren't! That guy threw you, like ten fucking feet!"

I avoided Jackie's eyes and touched my hand to my hairline, where I felt a bruise developing. "No, really, I'm fine. I just hit my head."

The other car door opened, and a woman about Jackie's height, five foot seven, stepped out. She was pretty in an older woman kind of way, with blond hair and green eyes. She was about thirty, I guessed, and she had a similar expression of shock worn on her face.

"Oh, my god, are you okay, sweetheart? Did I hit you?" She brought out her phone. "I'm calling the ambulance."

"No!" I don't know why, but I really didn't want this to become a big deal. I was beginning to get kind of frustrated—it was the third time I was asked that. "You didn't hit me, I'm fine."

The woman, who I guessed to be Jackie's mother, turned her wide eyes to mine, shocked. "What? Why not?

Asa interrupted, having finally stopped gasping for air. "Wait!"

We all looked at him, impatiently.

"What happened? I heard some guy yell, then the car," Asa pointed at the Volkswagen CC, his finger trembling. "It honked and hit the brakes hella hard."

He turned to me. "You got hit?"

For some reason, I got angry. I was angry with the situation and with all the questions and with my stupid fucking pounding head.

"No! The fucking car did not fucking hit me! Just, some guy pushed me into the fucking street, and I bonked my fucking head!" Everybody stared at me, my outburst shocking them.

I felt embarrassed-maybe the _F_ bombs were a little too much.

Asa looked at the guy in all black. "You pushed him?"

For some reason, I'd forgotten all about him. He turned, and for the first time, I saw his face.

He was white—when I say that, I mean, literally, he was very pale, as if he hadn't been in the sun for months. His long, black hair looked like it hadn't seen a brush in years, and it hung in his eyes.

His eyes were black, but not like a solid black, which would have been unfeeling and unreadable. They were like obsidian—fragile, weak, and vulnerable, having seen too much.

His face had the features of an Italian, and he was handsome in an uncaring sort of way.

Then he scowled, and glared at Asa. The Italian pointed to his own chest, and his fingers were ghostly white and long and thin. I noticed a silver skull ring on his ring finger. "Did _I _push him? No, but I did _save _his ass."

I was about to say something about that, because it bothered me for some reason, but Mrs. Yost interrupted.

"Are you sure you're alright? You don't need me to call your mother or anything?"

I did _not_ like the sound of my mom finding out about this. I don't know why, but it sounded like a terrible idea. "No, definitely not," I said, shaking my head.

She still looked unsure. "Um, okay . . ." She looked at her daughter for assistance, "Drew?"

Jackie nodded, and I realized that she was still staring at me. She blushed a little through her makeup, and looked down.

"Well, we've got to get going. You all be careful, okay? No more jumping in front of cars." She looked suspiciously at the Italian. "Do I know you?"

He smiled at her—a cold, creepy smile. "Not that I recall. Perhaps you know my father?"

Mrs. Yost nodded. "That seems about right," she said, opening the car door. "And what was his name, again?"

"Hades."

* * *

After Mrs. Yost drove off with Jackie, the Italian dude walked off into the direction that the big guy ran in.

I called after him, but he just turned and said, "Be careful, Drew. I won't always be there to save you."

Then Anthony and Asa went straight home. I doubted that they wanted to get pushed into streets, too, and they probably wanted to spread the gossip to their parents.

But both Ben and Edwin stayed with me, which I was grateful for. I didn't really want to be alone right now.

When the big, smelly man ran away, he had dropped one of his bags of skittles, so we shared it on the way back.

They looked at me out of the corner of their eyes, like they were worried I was going to yell at them for taking all the green skittles. It made the conversation forced and awkward, so when Edwin left us, it was completely silent.

I was still thinking about what had happened when Ben jolted me out of my thoughts. We had reached South Bird Road, the street Ben lived on.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on . . . Tuesday? We don't have school Monday, do we?"

I shook my head, and we stood there silently for a moment. I knew that Ben wanted to say something, so I was waiting for him to spit it out. I could tell by the expression on his face and his body language that he was mulling something over in his head.

"When the . . . guy," Ben started, watching my face carefully, "threw you, he said, 'half-blood.' What does that mean?"

I stared at him. I had forgotten all about that. I guess almost getting hit by a car and smacking your head on concrete will do that to you.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. Ben usually looked to me for answers like this, because I'm pretty book smart. "I can only guess that he meant I'm half German, half Welsh?"

Ben nodded his head slowly. "Maybe," he said, but I think we both knew that wasn't the case.

"And . . . the guy said that after he picked you up and _smelled_ you," Ben said, disgusted.

My breath got got in my throat. I remembered my sweater, choking me, and feeling his hot breath on my face. I shivered and rubbed my arms. "I'll see you later, okay, Ben?"

I crossed the street, leaving Ben at the corner of Bird and Grant Line.

"Wait! Oh, never mind," he said, put down. "But are you getting on Xbox?"

I didn't answer him. I just walked home, ready to leave all this behind. All I wanted was to get home and watch some _Ridiculousness _and eat some Ramen noodles and drink a Diet Coke.

I tipped my head back, and poured the last few skittles into my mouth to distract myself from thinking about the man, and his hot breath on my face.

For once, I _wanted _my ADHD to find something else to think about, and it was failing me.

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**So that's it! I apologize for the rude language, but I warned you in the title. Almost every teenager I know talk like the ones in this story.**

**Please, leave a review for me. What do you think of my minor characters? Who's this guy in all black (I hope you know this—if you don't, then I suggest re-reading the series)? What do you think about Jackie?**

**I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you in the next chapter. Bye!**


	3. A Stroll Through Memory Lane

**Hello again, reader(s), it's Pacmayne! I'm just here to deliver to you another chapter for _A Journey for Pi. _This chapter will provide some backstory and will dive a little deeper toward the reveal of Drew's godly parent._  
_**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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**Three**

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**A**s soon as my mind began to comprehend the images I was seeing, I knew I was seven-years-old, again.

I recognized this memory—I recognized this _dream._ I've been having it ever since it had first happened to me.

Sometimes I think that this didn't really happen, and that maybe my seven-year-old mind was just exaggerating the real thing. Or maybe I had imagined it, then convinced myself into thinking it _was_ real.

Because when you think about it, there couldn't be _anyway _for this to be true.

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This happened in the summer of 2007, when my parents weren't divorced, yet, and it was just the four of us—my dad, mom, older sister, and me.

My father, who was a staff sergeant in the air force at the time, was stationed to Aviano air base in Italy, and we lived in this small little neighborhood in the general shape of a capital _E._ There were three rows of housing, the top and bottom row containing twelve houses, but the middle row only had six. There was a park in the middle of the base housing, and a soccer field maybe a couple dozen yards away.

The houses all had orangish-red roofs, peach colored walls, dark green front doors, and small yards. It was a quiet and peaceful neighborhood, with few cars on the streets, chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and basketball courts painted on the asphalt.

To the south was nothing, but farmlands, plains, and small forests. To the east and north, past the soccer field, lay an Italian city I never had anything to do with, really. And if you followed the roads west, you'd be eventually led to the air base itself, with its American stores, restaurants, and other similar establishments.

Man, I have _a lot _of good memories here, but this particular one stands out as one of the worst.

I'd spent most of my day outside and within the confines of this little group of trees just across the street from my house that I had thought was a forest.

The sky above me, peaking out from the foliage of the forest, was blue and cloudless, although towards the west it was starting to redden. The sun, which was on its way down, showing me it was about seven o' clock, shone through leaves and in between trees, setting the dirt and rocks into stark clarity.

It was a hot, summer day, with temperatures nearing about ninety degrees. The sound of singing birds was beginning to quiet down, succumbing to noises emitted by all kinds of bugs and other animals.

I watched curiously as little black ants swamped over the apple core I'd dropped to the floor a few minutes previous. My young self wondered if the ants thought that the apple was gross, since there was dirt all over it. I hoped that they weren't mad at me.

Yards away, somewhere to my left, was a creek about three feet across and two inches deep, its bubbling sounds quite calming as it trickled its way downstream.

Streams of sunlight glanced off the water and lit up the forest duff. The blurry forms of two squirrels scampered from one tree trunk to another, chasing each other.

Despite the calm and peace, I now know that it won't last much longer.

I continued watching and playing with the ants, lost in my own little world. Every time I have this dream, I do the same thing; wait for the scary part, telling myself that this time, I won't be scared.

I knew that it wasn't long now . . .

Sure enough, I heard the leaves crackling faintly under the weight of something heavy somewhere ahead of me. Like always, I tried to steel myself for what I was about to see, but I also knew there was no point.

My head snapped up, my eyes narrowing towards the general area of the noises. I waited, spending maybe half a minute just listening to the thumps getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, all of the extra noises stopped. The insects, the birds, the rodents—they all shut up seemingly out of nowhere. All I could hear was my own breathing, the bubbling creek, and the footsteps.

I wanted to scream at my younger self to run, but there was no changing the past.

It wasn't until the thing was only about ten feet away from me, concealed behind a large green bush, did I decide that I should probably move out of the open.

I sprinted to the left, as quickly and as quietly as I could, to the nearest tree. I peaked around its trunk, the bark scraping against my cheek and some tree sap getting on to my hand.

I waited, and my younger heart began to beat faster, and my breathing started to shallow.

I know what happens next, and I can't do anything other than stare at this horrific creature as it crawls out from under the bush for the thousandth time.

As a seven-year-old boy, the first thing I noticed was what I recognized, which was the upper body. The thing had the head of a woman, with long, greasy brown hair that stuck out everywhere. It's eyes were brown, and it was squinting at the environment around it predatorily.

The face was ugly, with a nose that appeared to be broken, and hollowed out cheek bones. It had red lips that were stained with blood and pasted with animal fur, and it's skin was dirty.

And that's where the human similarities just about ended.

It had long, skinny arms, with ruffled brown feathers that started from its shoulders and ended at the wrists, forming wings on the backs of its arms. It had bloody, wrinkled hands with claws replacing fingers.

It was my size and it wore a tattered and dirty dress that revealed more than a boy my age needed to see. It's whole lower body had the shape of a bird and was covered with feathers. It had feet with bloody claws the size of my shins.

I didn't even really know what I was looking at. My eyes went wide and I almost forgot how to breathe. I felt petrified with fear.

The bird-woman stalked forward, taking one hop at a time and drinking in its surroundings. Even though it had the upper body of a human, its lower body of a bird seemed to dominate its mind set.

It had the movements of a bird, with the cocking back and sharp turns of the head. The way it traveled, by hopping back and forth and flapping its feathers for a boost, reminded the young me of the birds I saw in California, once.

As the bird-woman moved forward, I edged slowly and carefully around the tree to stay out of sight.

I wasn't careful enough.

_Snap!_

I looked down; I had stepped on a twig. I froze to the tree.

I heard nothing, but the creek behind me. The creature had stopped moving, and I had stopped breathing.

I listened, my eyes looking, but not really focusing, on the brown tree bark.

Nothing.

I moved just my head and peaked around the mossy tree trunk. I didn't see the bird-woman anywhere.

The young me let out a sigh of relief, stupidly thinking that I had scared off the thing, but I could only brace myself for what happens next.

I turned my head, separated from the tree, and screamed.

She was right there—on the other side of the tree, mere feet away. She looked at me in alarm, but recovered quickly. Her face contorted viciously and her mouth opened.

Out came a horrific, scratchy shriek, then, "δεμιγοδ!"

_Demigod_.

She raised her winged arms to slash at me, her sharp claws glinting in the sunlight.

I gasped and tripped backwards on a root, leaves and dust flying around me. The bird-woman thrusted at me and I rolled just out of the reach of her bloody talons. I got to my feet as she did.

She stared me down with her dark, cold, beady eyes, snarling.

I gulped.

She lunged, and I forced myself to sprint out of the way. She ate the dirt, and I ran to the creek.

I heard her behind me, cawing and screeching like a crow, but its voice magnified times two. She bound after me and flapped her wings, her heavy footfalls urging me on. I dodged a tree, ducked under a branch, and vaulted over a bush.

Even as a seven-year-old, I was quick, but I wasn't yet as agile as I am now.

I landed wrong on my left foot, rolling my ankle. I yelped and splashed into the creek, the frigid water shocking me.

Before I could get up, I heard the bird-woman shriek victoriously. Then, I saw her shadow fall on me, and I knew it was over. I felt her claws dig into my back, her weight crushing my chest.

I screamed in pain.

Suddenly, I felt something strange shudder its way through me. There was a painful pull in my gut, like somebody reached their hand down my throat and was trying to yank out my lower intestine.

I clenched my fists inside of the water and sparks arced along my skin. Webs of bright blue electricty twisted through the water.

Then, there was a loud _pop._ The bird-woman's weight released and her claws unlatched from my back with a confused screech.

I didn't hesitate. I leapt to my feet and sprinted away, as if I had _meant_ to shock the creature with lightning or whatever that was.

As I left the concealment of the forest, my sneakers pounding on the asphalt and the sun blinding me, I heard the bird-woman utter one last shriek—a cry for vengeance.

And I woke up.

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**Alright, there you go! I hope this helps you understand who Drew is a little more. Now, there's some _subtle _hints toward who his parent is, so that should solve some questions you might have had.**

**Please, whoever you are, leave a review telling me what you think of my story and my chapter, because it will make my day.**

**Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


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